


Save Tonight

by larrymylove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Committed Relationship, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fights, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 06:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrymylove/pseuds/larrymylove
Summary: Some days it's softness and sweetness, spending the day tangled up in one another, never wanting to let go; other times it's fighting, clipped words, tension hanging like a fog. Louis' finally home from a trip to LA and all Harry wants to do is be with his boy, tangled up in that world of softness and sweetness; this isn't one of those days.





	Save Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this conversation](http://wellingtontat.tumblr.com/post/164831827043/tightropeofhope-tinylarrie-wellingtontat) we had on tumblr, and the idea of softness, terms of endearment, gentle domesticity still being prevalent even during the hard times.

The day hadn’t started quite the way Harry had expected.

Louis had come home the evening before from a ten-day trip to LA and Harry couldn’t wait to have his boy home with him again. He’d missed the sounds of Louis puttering around the kitchen, falling asleep snuggled up together, limbs all atangle. He missed the smell of Louis, breathing him in as he kissed along his neck, his jaw; the smell of emerald forest aftershave and cigarettes. He couldn’t wait for Louis to return home, planning out their first day together in ten days. He was going to make them breakfast, surprising Louis with a tray of pancakes and fruit and eggs in bed, laying together eating lazily from each other’s plates. There’d be morning sex, of course, and then they’d stumble towards the shower together; maybe even shower sex. They’d watch movies together, tucked up on the couch, tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths and giggling at the funny bits. Mostly though, Harry would just spend the day taking Louis in, rememorizing all his little features - not that he’d forgotten them - from the creases around his eyes, to the scar above his brow, to the freckles on his cheeks.

Unfortunately though, the universe seemed to have other plans.

Louis had arrived yesterday evening, stumbling through the front door of their home groggy and exhausted and grumpy. They’d shared kisses, of course they did. But Louis made his way towards the bedroom in a way that Harry knew not to follow. He stayed behind, busying himself with tidying up the already tidy kitchen as he heard the shower water begin to run. And as he stood in the kitchen, rinsing the same fork over and over again with soap and hot water, listening to the sounds of the shower, he became angrier and angrier. 

It wasn’t that he was necessarily angry _at Louis_ , persay. It was more the fact that he was angry that Louis had arrived in tired and grumpy. Harry had passed the ten days envisioning Louis’ bright face, excited and happy and joyous to see him. When they were younger and would have to be apart, they’d always come back together happy and giggling. Louis would practically maul Harry over, flinging himself into his arms and peppering his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids with kisses until Harry was a giggling, happy mess, begging for mercy. 

As Harry rinsed the fork again, he realized Louis hadn’t greeted him like that in a long, long time.

Still though, he’d be happy to see him and they’d kiss and tangle into each other, never wanting to let go again and holding on to each other for as long as they could. They’d cling together, unable to be apart for a minute. And now, Louis was showering alone, and Harry was still washing the same fucking fork.

Eventually, the water shut off and Louis emerged from the back of their house wearing his comfy grey joggers and a hoodie. The shower had done nothing for the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion that seemed to cling to him like a cloud. 

“Do you want something to eat?” Harry had offered.

“Nah, grabbed something earlier,” Louis answered, tucking into the couch cushions and flicking on the television.

Harry didn’t push the subject. They spent the evening watching _The Aviator_ on some movie channel, and though Harry tried to focus on the movie, he couldn’t help but feel like there was something horribly wrong here. It felt like a weight crushing against his chest. This wasn’t normal at all, and he didn’t know what to do to make it normal.

After the movie had ended, Louis turned off the TV and stood from the couch, “Gonna head to bed,” he mumbled, and Harry had nodded, turning out the lights and trailing behind him. They fell asleep together, Louis’ arm wrapped around Harry like always; but this time it felt more like a weight against him than a comfort. And when Harry had woken up in the morning to work on that surprise breakfast, sure it would put a smile back on his boyfriend’s face and everything could _finally_ get back to normal, he found Louis wasn’t in their bed.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Louis had explained when Harry found him on the couch, flicking through his phone with a blanket over his lap.

“Right,” Harry’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was it that Louis couldn’t sleep, or couldn't sleep with him. The very thought made something angry gnaw at him, the hurt at the very suggestion flashing through him like a white heat. “Couldn’t sleep, or couldn’t sleep with me?” He asked before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth, or even before he could control them to not sound so angry, so accusatory.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis locked his phone, tossing it to the coffee table.

“You’ve been off since you got in yesterday, Lou. I don’t know what your problem is, but there’s something not right here and if it’s something I’ve done, tell me so I can fix it. Otherwise, what are we even doing?”

He meant is as _‘what are we even doing being so cold to each other’_ but Louis had taken it to mean _‘what are we even doing together’_ and Harry was too hurt, too exhausted and angry and frustrated to correct him. So what if it spiraled the tension to a full-blown fight? At least a fight with Louis would be better than the coldness, the distance - right?

Something flashed in Louis’ eyes as he said, “Is that how you really feel? You know what, fuck you Harry! I’m sorry I’m not all sunshine and roses but did you even know what I was going through in LA? I had to have lunch with Simon and Dan! Do you know how awful that was for me? I’m sorry if I’m just a little tense and not feeling like the absolute greatest right now.”

“W-why didn’t you tell me? You always tell me this stuff. I could have….”

“What? You couldn’t have done a damn thing and we both know it. It was just a lunch, I didn’t want to get you all worried or stressed out for me. It doesn’t do either of us a bit of good when you get like that and you know it. Which is ironic considering you don’t seem to give two shits how I’m feeling or what I’m going through right now seeing as all you want to do is be a god damn nag.”

What happened next is a blur. Harry knows they shouted at one another, cursing each other and slamming doors; Harry going to the movie room, Louis going to their bedroom. But even the distraction of a movie didn't help, which is how Harry finds himself moving back to the living room; tucking up on the couch and watching mindless shows, not even partially focusing on what’s playing out on screen.

This wasn’t how their day was supposed to go, this wasn’t how Harry had envisioned spending their first day back together. As he tries to force his eyes to focus on the screen, he feels guilt churning sourly in his stomach. He shouldn’t have said what he had, but neither should have Louis. Fighting is a rare thing for them; they’re both older and mature enough to sit down and hash things out like adults when things get rocky. It’s not always pleasant, sometimes it’s in the form of sitting across from each other at the table and airing their grievances like it’s a fucking _business meeting_ , like it’s _the best way they’ve learned how_. The shouting, the cursing, the hateful words spat towards one another, that just doesn’t happen between them. They’re _better_ than that.

Hours pass, and Harry has given up all hopes of Louis coming out from their bedroom anytime soon. At first he thought he might; that he might pop out for a snack or a drink, and Harry could go to him and apologize and they could talk. But Louis stayed in their room, and Harry stayed on the couch; neither ready to face the other.

Harry knows this is just a fight though, that they can overcome this and eventually things will be okay again. But there’s a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that maybe - just maybe - this time is different. The nagging thought festers as the hours pass, the programs on the TV change. _What if Louis comes out and says that it’s over, that this was the final straw? That he just can’t do this anymore? What if **I** just can’t do this anymore? What are we even doing? Why did I have to ask it like that? But really, what **are** we even doing?_

Nausea sets in, and as Harry reaches for the remote to change the channel on the TV, his stomach dips and he has to swallow the bile that’s creeped up in his throat. He feels sick, physically and mentally. The exhaustion is heavy as he flips through the TV guide, settling on the infomercial channel; a channel he knows he won’t have to focus heavily on. He hates fighting with Louis when it’s just spats, but this was more than a spat, and he feels the exhaustion of the day’s events like an anchor pinning him by the chest. Absently, he traces the anchor on his wrist, wondering what the rope that’s meant to go along with it, is doing in that moment.

When the bedroom door finally opens, Harry doesn’t lift his eyes from the TV screen; doesn’t have the strength. He knows if he even so much as _looks_ at Louis, the urge to rush to him, to cling to him, to hold on and never let go, will be too overwhelming to keep at bay; and the thought of Louis not wanting that, of stepping back, of pushing him away with a hand on his chest and coldness in his eyes is not something Harry can bear. So he keeps his eyes trained on the television. He hears Louis puttering in the kitchen, the cabinets opening and closing; the clicking of the gas stove, the opening of a can of soup. Harry shifts on the couch, tucking his legs underneath him feeling suddenly very cold as he listens to Louis pour his soup into a bowl and settle down at the kitchen table.

_I’m sorry,_ is on the tip of Harry’s tongue, pushing against his lips waiting to be set free and spoken out into the silence of their home. But the fear keeps the apology locked inside. He doesn’t know if Louis is ready to apologize, ready to talk, or if he’ll ever be. So Harry keeps his mouth shut, eyes still trained on the television even though his ears are craned to the kitchen, his focus all on what Louis is doing behind him.

It’s late at night, and Harry wonders how the time could have gone by so quickly. The day is almost over, their first day back together, and it’s been wasted in a fight. He knows he should get up, turn off the telly, and set about getting ready for bed; but the thought of bed makes his stomach dip. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed into the bedroom Louis’ claimed as his post-fight refuge; and even if he is, the thought of sleeping clinging to opposite sides of the bed makes his heart bruise.

Louis’ rinsing his bowl in the sink, and Harry wonders offhandedly if his fork is still in there. 

If they go to bed together, and Harry’s allowed to sleep beside Louis but not to touch, not to kiss, he’s sure it’ll break his heart even more.

_ Please, I don’t know how much more it can take. How much more I can take. _

It’s weird for Harry, to be begging for mercy from heartache as opposed to mercy from playful kisses, tickling fingers, teasing touches.

And suddenly the kitchen tap shuts off, and Harry brings his knees to his chest, hugging himself and trying to soothe himself from the pain he knows that’s going to come when Louis walks past, back to the bedroom, and shuts the door. But Louis doesn’t walk past to the bedroom, he doesn’t shut the door. Instead, he’s standing there off to the side of the couch, and Harry has to fight to keep from turning his head. He can’t bear to look at him, he can’t trust himself to look but not to touch, not to hold, not to cry.

A hand reaches out and Harry finally turns, blinking at Louis standing in front of him now, blinking at the hand extended towards him.

“C’mon love,” Louis says, voice small and gravelly, “Let’s go bed.”

And Harry can’t believe it for a minute, wonders if this is even real or if he’s fallen asleep mid-infomercial and this is nothing more than a cruel dream. He takes the hand anyway, just to see, and Louis gently lifts him from the couch. Hand in hand, Louis reaches out with his left and takes the remote, shutting off the TV. Harry’s voice is caught in his throat as Louis leads them towards the bedroom, the softness of the pad of his thumb rubbing against Harry’s knuckles forcing him to choke back the sob lodged in his throat.

As they enter their bedroom, his eyes are wet with tears he’s not letting fall as Louis gives his hand a squeeze before letting go and climbing onto his side of the bed. Harry blinks them away, making himself move to the dresser to change into a fresh t-shirt. He wants nothing more than to be in bed next to Louis, but he’s still uncertain what he’s allowed and what he’s not allowed in these circumstances. He chooses a t-shirt he knows is Louis’ hoping that wearing it acts as some sort of peace offering, the same as Louis’ thumb against his knuckles was for him.

After tugging the shirt over his head, he turns to the bed. Louis’ turned off the lights, the only light coming from the lamp on Louis’ bedside table. He’s flicking through his phone, propped against the pillows. When he sees Harry staring, he locks the phone and sets it down beside the lamp and nods towards Harry.

“You do sleep in some proper weird places, H; but sleeping standing up is I feat I know you’ve yet to master.”

Harry’s frozen in place, still unsure if any of this is real when Louis exhales through his nostrils, a different kind of light to his eyes than the flash of anger from earlier.

“I’m just saying,” Louis starts, “you could stand there all night like a creep, or you can come under the nice warm covers with me and get some cuddles, maybe even a few kisses if you’re lucky. But if you’d rather just stand there….”

“I get to kiss you?” The voice that escapes Harry sounds foreign, awestruck.

Louis takes a breath, and Harry prepares himself for what’s to come, the continuation of the fight. Instead, Louis just folds his arms over his chest, a teasing of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, “Well I don’t know, that all just depends, Haz. If you want to be creepy and stand there all night, then I might change my mind about cuddles and kisses. But if you get your arse in this bed in the next five seconds, it might be a different story.”

Harry doesn’t waste a single one of those five seconds. He rushes into bed, unable to tell who is wrapping their arms around the other the fastest. Everything's a mess of arms entangled with arms, legs entangled with legs; as if their own bodies can’t stand the idea of not touching another a second.

“Hi,” Louis says softly, the tip of his nose brushing against Harry’s.

“Hi,” Harry says back, staring in those blue eyes he knows he could easily spend the rest of eternity drowning in.

“Missed you a bit,” Louis says, fingers rubbing softly at the hem of Harry’s - _Louis’_ \- t-shirt pinched between them.

“Missed you a bit too.”

“Fights are stupid,” Louis pouts, tugging lightly on the hem of the shirt.

“Fights are stupid,” Harry nods.

A soft smile pulls across Louis’ face, “Parrot.”

Harry wrinkles his nose at him and Louis’ smile grows as he pokes a finger to the right of Harry’s belly button, making him twitch and giggle.

The playful moment settles though, and Harry reaches up a hand to brush under Louis’ right eye, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Louis, I’m so….”

“Shhh,” Louis cuts him off, placing a finger to Harry’s lips, “Me too. And tomorrow we’re going to talk and we’re going to have this out like adults; and after the messy bits of it, we’re going to apologize and have makeup sex probably - no, _definitely_ \- and I’m going to completely undo you like I should have spent today doing. But for now, I just want to hold you. I haven’t….I haven’t _just held you_ in ten days, H.”

Harry nods, the tears welling up in his eyes at the crack in Louis’ voice, “I am though, for the record,” Harry says, tracing the constellation of freckles on Louis’ cheek.

“Me too, for the record.”

Louis brushes the pad of his thumb over the bare strip of Harry’s tummy, and everything in that moment is softness. Tomorrow will come, and with it the talking and the apologies, and maybe even a few tears. But for now, there’s softness and Louis is finally home - _Harry’s Louis is home._

“I love you, baby,” Louis says. He’s said it dozens of thousands of times that they’ve been together; but as they begin to fall asleep together, tangled up in one another, Harry saying the words back against Louis’ lips, he feels the sincerity of those words through his very being.

“Lou?”

“Yeah, Haz?”

“I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Me too darling, me too.”

Some days, it’s soft, slow, sleepy Sundays, tracing fingers across bare skin. Other times, it’s playfully nagging and bantering. Sometimes, it’s fights, where their words are clipped and the tension is heavy and they’re both exhausted and Harry’s sitting on the couch watching, but not really, an infomercial on TV and Louis goes over and holds out a hand and says, _“c'mon, let's go to bed, love”_ and Harry takes his hand and smiles softly as Louis brushes his thumb over Harry’s knuckles because even when they’re at the end of their rope, frustrated and angry and exhausted, they still (and always will) find home in each other.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! i'd really appreciate if you could take a second and reblog the [fic post](http://wellingtontat.tumblr.com/post/164837794508/save-tonight-some-days-its-softness-and) on tumblr. thank you!


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